LITMIR.BIZ

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are you talking about? I was doing my job!” My throat started to swell with tears. “Did you really have a baby on me?”

      “Don’t try and change the subject. Who was that dude? I told you I ain’t like that dude and you still hanging around him.”

      “He’s a customer. I can’t tell him to stop coming here.”

      “Oh, now you got new customers?”

      “What?”

      “I thought I was your number one customer?”

      “And I thought you were my boyfriend!”

      “So you admit you’re cheating on me?”

      “What?” I was confused.

      “So you don’t have nothing going on with this dude? Never? Ever?”

      “No.”

      “Now you lyin’—you told me y’all went together in the third grade.”

      “I never said that! I said I went with a dude named June in third grade.”

      “Well damn, how many cats you kicking it with? You just a ho, huh?”

      “I’m not a ho. Your mama’s a ho. She’s the one who gave birth to a pimp.”

      Quamir mushed me on the side of my head. “What you say? That’s exactly why we ain’t back together, ’cause Shanice is more of a woman than you’ll ever be.” He palmed my face and knocked me to the ground. “Stupid ass!”

      He hopped in his truck and sped off, the screeching tires leaving smoke behind.

      I did all I could not to cry. I cleared my throat and tried to smooth out the wrinkles in my uniform. I sniffed, and as I turned to go inside, Harlem was standing there. “You know you don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

      “It’s not what you think.”

      “I know Toi.” He sighed. “It never is.”

      “You don’t understand. He’s going through something.”

      “Whatever you say ma.” He fixed my collar. “I left my number on the table. Hollah at me when you get it together.”

      4

      I’d called Quamir a million times this morning and he hadn’t answered not even once. Every time I heard his voicemail, I got sick to my stomach. I kept wondering what he’s doing, who’s he’s with, and why he’s treating me like this. And then I’d get pissed that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to let this relationship go. It was sooooo obvious that this was a dead end street, yet I kept going around and around, ignoring all the signs that told me I needed to break out.

      And it’s not like I loved Quamir the same way I did when things were good. He was perfect then. He gave me money and bought me clothes—and not no regular department store shit, either. Classy shit, shit that chicks around here couldn’t even pronounce, let alone afford. I was that girl every ho wanted to be and now look at me. My all-star-hood-hustlin’ boyfriend had turned into a no-good baby daddy; I was on welfare; and my mother was on my back about everything. If it wasn’t for Tay, I’d be catching the bus everywhere, and yeah, I’m still cute—don’t get it twisted—but I couldn’t afford a thing that Qua used to buy me, so I’m limited to places like The Gap.

      “Toi,” my mother knocked on my bedroom door and opened it at the same time. “Why haven’t you gone and applied for that childcare program like I told you?”

      I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “I forgot.”

      “I swear.” She shook her head. “Well, you need to get up and go down to the welfare office right now. Today is the last day.”

      I sucked my teeth. Can someone please tell her that I hate the word welfare? “But I have to go to work.”

      “Oh, you’re going.” She placed her hand on her hip. “But you’re going to the welfare office to apply for this child care program first. Like I told you to last week. This way Noah can be in daycare in September and you don’t have to worry about a babysitter.”

      “Alright ma, I get the point.”

      “I hope so. Now, I’ll take him with me this morning. I’m going to visit your Aunt Gerri.”

      “You’re off today?”

      “Yes I am.” She took the baby out of his crib and walked out of my room.

      I swear I’d hit rock bottom. This whole deal was something I’d never imagined. I always thought you had to be poor, down and out with little to nothing, or just plain lazy to get welfare benefits.

      I shook my head. I couldn’t get sad about this shit. I had to choke it up. Quamir had caused me to be sad enough and I didn’t need to bring anything more on myself.

      I got out of my bed, showered, and threw on a pink BeBe sweat suit, matching kicks, pulled my hair in a single ponytail, slid on my D&G round-eyed shades and went on my way.

      When I entered the welfare office, I was pissed at all the people waiting in line. I knew my manager was gon’ flip; there was no way I would be on time today.

      I signed my name underneath the fifty million other people waiting to see a caseworker and I sat down. There were crying children and complaining adults everywhere. For a moment I felt like I was going crazy. People were being paged over and over again on the loudspeaker and the security guard was arguing with a new client every five minutes. There were a thousand different safe sex posters, AIDS, suicide, depression hotline numbers, and information about welfare fraud.

      And if that wasn’t enough, there were about a zillion different songs floating through the air from the radio on the security guard’s desk, to the elevator music in the lobby, to the clients’ mundane songs: “I can’t believe they cut my benefits…I wish these people would come on. They trynasay my kids don’t even live with me. I need my money. Where my food stamps? I lost my card. I found my card. I ain’t goin’ to no damn Work-First program…” And on and on it went until I felt like my head was spinning.

      I got up and walked from one end of the lobby to the next. By the time I came back, someone had taken my seat. I decided it wasn’t worth the drama of asking this person to move, so I just leaned against the wall until my name was called.

      “Ms. McKnight.” A caseworker I’d never seen before called my name. She held the door open for me to come in and introduced herself. “I’m Mrs. Smith and I’ve just been assigned your case.”

      “Oh, what happened to Ms. Roberts?”

      “She quit.”

      “Oh, well I was coming to apply for the new daycare program for teenage mothers.”

      “You have to be in school.”

      “I am.”

      She looked at me funny. “I don’t mean a G.E.D. program.”

      “Excuse me? Did I say I was in a G.E.D. program?”

      “I’m just letting you know.” She opened my folder. “Are you aware that you have to update your benefits?”

      “Why?”

      “All your information is not completed and if you don’t complete it then we will cut off your Medicaid and the money you get every month.”

      I looked at her like she was crazy. “I don’t get money every month.”

      She looked surprised. “You have a job?”

      “Yes.” I snapped.

      “Through the Work First program?”

      “No.”

      “Oh…Well, if you make more than three hundred dollars a month, then we’ll

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